


Magnetics

by Serenitala



Category: Hurt Locker (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:24:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitala/pseuds/Serenitala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's dangerous, he knows, this fixation he has. It's worryingly close to obsession and it's so god-damn unhealthy, but he can't stop himself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnetics

It's hard to not compare them; Thompson, who had been careful and professional, who had done everything by the book and James who is reckless, who pushes everything and everyone to the limit and almost gets them all killed a dozen times over; Thompson who had been a good man, a friend, and James who makes his skin itch and his fists clench; Thompson whose family had received a folded flag and a pair of dog-tags and James who is here, playing his god-damn music too loud and flaunting the rules and getting off on danger and adrenaline and other people's fear.

Sometimes he thinks about killing him, about forcing a detonation and blowing him to smithereens. He could have actually done it once and can't even bring himself to feel bad for thinking about it, for almost wanting it. It would be a kindness because, let's face it, there's only one way Sergeant First Class William James is dying and it's not in bed surrounded by his family. Why prolong the inevitable?

They disarm bomb after bomb after bomb and James pushes too hard and doesn't listen to a word anyone else says and gets the job done. That's the real kicker of it, that for all his stupidity and recklessness he's actually damn good at what he does. Afterwards they get drunk and fight; throwing punches while James laughs, hysteria and hopelessness and sheer bat-shit insanity and sometimes JT gets it, he does, the pain and the death and the need to be alive so badly that sometimes even other people's deaths feel like a victory. He just wishes he could understand James, understand why he keeps a box of shit that could have killed him, why he stays so close for so long, skirting death when everyone else would high-tail it out of there, why his mouth laughs when his eyes seem dead.

It's dangerous, he knows, this fixation he has. It's worryingly close to obsession and it's so god-damn unhealthy, but he can't stop himself. He watches James constantly, can't look away; hating him, drawn to him, magnetised and repelled and disgusted. He wants to punch him, to pin him down and beat his face until it's bloody and flattened and unrecognisable.

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to die?” He'd asked once, drunk and tired and so fucking weary.

“Does it matter either way?” came the response, the eternal cigarette dangling close to the ground, barely an inch from the untucked sheet. JT supposes that it doesn't really, not here amongst the heat and sweat and sand and death, not when his dreams are about James dying and he doesn't know any more if they're desires or nightmares or both but Eldridge had started to lose it from the moment the doctor died and now he's being shipped home with a bullet wound that could have been a death knell and that's because of James, because he's chasing ghosts and courting danger, bigger and bigger risks to make himself feel alive, to make him feel like he matters.

 

* * *

 

James' fist hits his jaw and the blow almost knocks him off his feet. They've never done this sober, locked in James' room, fists flying but Eldridge isn't here to act as a bumper now, it's just them and the tension and their shared need to feel something, anything. His right hook connects with James' temple but the bastard just laughs.

“You've got more than that, I know you do.”

The anger courses through JT like a boiling tsunami and he lunges. Before he's aware of himself JT has James is pinned to the wall , a hand around his throat and he can't look away from those haunted eyes. Sweat is coursing down James' face and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, the movement taking hours as the world condenses to this, to their bodies panting and breathless, too close for any kind of comfort, almost nose to nose.

And maybe this moment has always been inevitable, maybe this is where they have been headed all along. Suddenly the past month is crashing around them like a wave and JT wants to force James down, force him to his knees, to own him, dominate him, to finally beat him. James smiles, slow and ugly and devastating, like he knows exactly what's going through JT's mind, like his thoughts are spread across his face like a picture book.

The air is thick and heady and any second now something is going to happen which they're never going to be able to take back. His hand tightens incrementally around James' neck feeling the heat and the thudding pulse and just as he's about to move it down, to touch more of the hot, damp flesh in front of him there is a pounding at the door.

“Sergeant, there's been a call, you're needed!”

James takes a heaving breath as JT's hand falls to his side, “Guess it's a rain-check then, huh, cowboy?” and he saunters over to pick up his discarded shirt. JT tries to ignore the way his eyes had brightened at the call.

 

* * *

 

Two days later and JT is making his goodbyes, doing the rounds as he readies to leave, to go home. It sounds so foreign, _home_ , a place he can barely imagine anymore. He saves his farewells to James till the end.

 “Is she waiting for you?”

 JT furrows his forehead in confusion and tracks the movement of James' tongues as it licks at his lips.

 “The girl that wants your babies, is she waiting?”

 JT thinks about Mary, about her soft skin and dark eyes, the way her body moves against his and the breath stalls in his lungs.

 “Yeah, yeah she is.”

 “Well, then,” James says with a tilt of his head, his voice a careful shrug, “you better go give her your sperm, cowboy.”

 JT thinks maybe he hates him more than ever in that moment and he wonders what makes James' woman so damn loyal when the only thing that makes his eyes light up could kill him. Part of him thinks maybe he already knows the answer to that question.

 He feels like he should say something but he doesn't know what. They're not friends, they're just two guys thrown together in hell. Two guys who butted up against each other, rough, uneven edges in a sharp, hideous world. He's about to open his mouth to say anything to break the silence, to snap the awkward tension that's careening around around them, when James does it for him.

 “I'll see you the next time round,” he says, a smirk pulling at his lips.

 JT wants to say _no you won't_ , he wants to say _I'm done._ But he doesn't, he says “sure, the next time around,” and watches as James nods at him then walks away, ignoring the activity around him.


End file.
